They Built Rome with Years
by Leaf Skeletons
Summary: Written for Tackattack's oneshot challenge. Five stories from the children of Rome.
1. Onyx and Blue

I

Setting Prompt: Neptune's temple in New Rome/ 538 words

A clear chill ran through the abandoned temple- if it could even be called that. Overhead, the sky was overcast and bloated with the promise of icy showers to come. Grey underbellies sped through the air.

The daughter of Bellona stood outside the desolate and dusty building- if it could even be called that- for a minute before biting her lip and entering. Her black river hair fell across her face and she brushed it away.

The space was small and _pathetic_; Reyna fleetingly entertained the disrespectful thought that she had been in bigger broom cupboards, for the sake of the Gods. Three shrivelled up apples rolling around on a dusty bronze plate, glittering spider webs grasping the ceiling… And yet, it was somehow, like the sea; wild and lonely and by the Romans, unappreciated.

Reyna had never really been inside here before.

She knelt, her knees awkwardly banging into the offerings table and clutched the plate to stop the apples from rolling off. Reyna noticed an unused stick of incense that sat mournfully on the table. Fumbling in her pocket for a lighter, she lit it; a small yellow glow flickered at the top before a sweet smoke enveloped the room.

"My Lord Neptune…" her lips crusted, she was unsure of how to proceed.

If truth be told, she hated the sea. Like any other Roman, she feared it. Its wildness and illogicality and the fact that it was never constant… It was so _disorganised; _unlike Rome, oh how it was built on the concept or organisation and logic and discipline…

Circe's Island, where the pirates had captured them; had held them on the rough and stormy ocean while she and Hylla scrambled to survive as the ship tossed and rolled in Her unforgiving, clammy grasp…

And then that boy, that _Greek_… Percy Jackson. She had wanted to hit him, she really had! Pluto, hit was an understatement, damn it all; he had destroyed her home and he was the reason that she had suffered, all those months.

But Rome was built on organisation and discipline, so she had kept herself in check. It didn't help that he was the son of Poseidon, Lord of the sea. It didn't help that his eyes were as green as the clear rivers back at Circe's; the fresh jewel tropical green that ended up trickling into the wide ocean.

Reyna hated the sea.

But it was the sea's help they needed.

"I need your help." Her voice was dusty, slightly unkempt. Gravel, almost. "Please, aid Perseus Jackson on his quest. May your power be with him."

She was afraid, but she would pray. It was to save her camp.

"Please, my Lord. My camp needs you… I need you."

Was there anything left to say? She didn't think so.

Getting up, she smoothed down her praetor's robes and walked towards the door, pushing it open as a blast of wind drew her hair back. It smelled slightly briny.

The first drops of rain were slicing through the air, whipping the dark afternoon into a cleansing frenzy.

There were offerings that needed to be gifted to Neptune, and she would have to clean up his temple a bit.

If it would save her camp, nothing was too much.


	2. No Gods Walk Here

II

Chapter Title Prompt: Our Gang's Dark Oath/ 865 words

Alaska was, for a lack of a better word (and very much obviously), freezing. The fifth cohort was clustered together at the back of the cave; trickles of water dripped loudly in the silence. Outside, the winter wind whipped the air. Night was approaching.

Michael Varus was seated a little ways away from the rest of his comrades, his face a death mask.

"My fault, all my fault." He whispered harshly.

No one contradicted him.

Their eyes were drawn to the clump of fresh snow just outside the cave that did not completely cover the mound; the blood-streaked body of one of their own, Jordan Penny.

From the back of the clump, a girl with ragged brown hair and angry eyes stood up. "It _was_ your fault, Varus." She sneered. A howl of wind blew several pine needles into the cave and they fell onto the rocky ground.

"No one can know." Michael said, rubbing his eyes.

"What in Pluto's name does that mean?" She screeched hysterically. "Jordan is _dead, _you killed him!"

The small group began to murmur in agreement.

When Michael raised his head, his eyes were bloodshot and black.

"I told you, Lin, it was a damn accident!"

"You stabbed him five times, Varus! Please explain to me how shit like that is a_ccidental_."

Michael's guilt ridden lips were twisting to answer when another member of the party interrupted.

"We have to go back to Camp, Michael. The augur already told us this quest was going to end like this!"

"We can't!" Michael protested, "We didn't come all this way for nothing!"

"Don't you see what's happening already?"

"How in Pluto's name can we carry on?"

"It's already begun." This voice was shaped like cobwebs and it glowed faintly in the rapidly approaching darkness. "The curse that we warned about; Michael, we were _never_ meant to be the seven."

Michael was truly angry now and he stood up, his skin scraping against the bumpy walls. Someone had lit a lamp, the oily light casting long shadows on the grey.

"There is no curse. We a_re_ the seven."

* * *

"Jordan?" There was something wrong with the boy, Michael could tell. His purple shirt was ripped down one side and his eyes were horribly empty and too wide (were they pale gold?). "Jordan, the rest are back there. Come on."

Jordan twisted his neck from side to side, still not speaking.

Michael frowned, approaching closer. There was something odd about his friend's positioning and the deep lavender tea sky with tints of rose syrup was not helping matters.

"Jordan-"

The boy leaped towards Michael, his teeth bared and his face inhuman. Michael yelped and groped in his belt for his dagger. Jordan was reaching for his own but Michael, gasping with shock and terror, took his own out first and plunged the blade into his friend, metal piercing skin.

He pressed forwards again and again until Jordan finally rolled off him into the snow. Michael got up shakily and hurried over to the unconscious form. Through the swirls of snow, he could see shadows approaching.

"Michael?" Jordan croaked. His eyes were back to normal and his hands were scrambling to reach the wounds that tore his skin as the blood leaked out. "Michael… what?"

"Jordan?" Michael felt his heart race as his head began crashing. "Oh gods, Jordan… You're back to- help!" He yelled at the approaching shadows, "Hurry up! Jordan's wounded!"

"Michael, what the _hell_ was this for?"

"But… But- no…"

Jordan's eyes fluttered shut as he rasped his last breath. Behind Michael, the cohort had approached with their faces slack-jawed in horror.

* * *

"He wasn't himself." Michael begged. Lin's lips curled.

"What does that mean?"

"It's the curse!" Someone said again.

"Shut the fucking hell up about the curse!"

"He attacked me first!"

Lin stood up again.

"Jordan's dead. What do we do now?"

No one looked at the broken corpse.

"Tell no one that it was me," Michael begged. "He wasn't himself, trust me! It was like he was possessed- his eyes were gold and…"

"Gold?" The lace cobwebbed voice asked again. "Gold?"

"Yeah."

"Eidolons." The voice murmured softly.

"What?"

"They posses people and-"

"And Jordan wasn't himself."

The rest of the cohort looked at one another. Being together through countless quests and daily life, they did trust each other. It was hard, if you didn't know them, to understand the depth of such a bond. And yeah, Michael did have to the potential to be a little shit, but he wasn't a killer. They knew that.

And they had heard voices the moment they reached Alaska; creeping skeleton voices that probed into their brains as they lay asleep. Or little shadows that floated behind them and disappeared when they turned around.

"We… won't tell." Lin finally decided. "Jordan was killed by a monster."

Michael bowed his head in grief and relief. The rest of the cohort finally murmured in agreement. The cobwebs coughed as silence overtook once again.

Just before Michael drifted off to sleep, he heard a whispering that dug into his skull.

"You _will_ die, Roman."

* * *

Oh, they kept their secret.

It didn't matter in the end, anyway.

None of them returned.


	3. Drowning Toys in Winter Rivers

III

Word Prompt: Endless, Oath/ 571 words

The problems just kept on coming, didn't they? Octavian was just sick of it. Why did the Gods have against the new rising of Rome? Or was it the fates? Were the ancient deities too shrouded in their own thoughts of exaltation to support a people that rose from the ashes? Were the fates just sadistic little horrors that caused problems for their own twisted amusement?

Octavian was sick of this.

First there'd been the Titan war. At night, when he sat alone in the temple of Apollo with the glittering eyes of the stuffed toys around him, he could still see the legion fully armed. He could still see Mount Tam glaring down at them, and hear the silence just before the battle began.

Rome had nearly fallen.

And when his people were prepared to rise anew, the next problem had struck.

He frowned down on the marble floor, watching the spits of stuffing as he peered for any sort of sign of what was to come.

"What is Percy Jackson doing here?"

Nothing came to him but he could feel a chill in the air. Just a minute ago, it had been sweltering; the thick heat of the summer night pressing down on him like a shroud. He could see the Little Tiber snaking around the City from here; it glowed like winter constellations in the night.

There was something just _not right_ about the boy. There was something about him that Reyna knew, that the _praetor_ was keeping from him; something foreign, that seemed to fight against the very air of New Rome.

Or perhaps purple was just not Jackson's colour.

There and then, as the moon grinned down on him in spades of pale yellow, Octavian made a promise to himself, to the very earth of Rome.

There would be nothing to stop him from protecting his home; it would happen no matter the cost.

That was his oath.

-x-

Greek.

Gracceus.

The ancient race that preceded Rome, those from the old country that he thought were defeated. The ones who hated Rome; those who stared at them with revenge in their hollow eyes.

Could the Gods not let them have one day of peace?

Surely Percy Jackson was the first of many, and surely his intentions were not genuine?

Yes, he had saved Camp Jupiter from the giant; Octavian believed it was as much self-defence as anything- that particular beast was Neptune's nemesis after all- or perhaps just a part of Jackson's charade.

And now he was praetor?

The Greek, the enemy; this was Rome's new leader?

Who was casting the dice? Who was it that was so anxious to destroy his home?

Octavian glared at Percy from across the room.

He had made an oath, and if the Greek was to threaten this place in any way-

The problems were just endless, weren't they?

-x-

One Greek was not enough. More were approaching. Why did he seem to be the only one who saw the approaching tragedy that was to come?

He was the only one who knew that no good would come of letting strangers- old enemies with old grudges- walk on Roman soil.

Nothing good would come of this, he knew.

So he waited with the rest of his _people_ as the obnoxious ship descended from the skies.

The problems that faced Rome may be endless but Octavian had made his oath.

This was his home and no one would take it from him.


	4. Captured Sun in Bottles

IV

Title Prompt: A promise kept

Gwen's last straw was the two bottles of vodka- glinting with captured rainbows underneath the evening sun- which were stashed under Dakota's bed. Her fellow cohort member was simply nowhere to be seen.

She pushed her hair off her face. "Dakota!"

The empty bunk reverberated with silence. Dinner was in half an hour and the praetors had insisted that the fifth cohort be ready for inspection by then. The rest of them were gathered outside the building, fooling around with their armour.

Jason stepped into the room and noticed Gwen's worried expression and the bottles in her hand.

"Dakota?" He asked and she responded with a grimaced nod. "How a fourteen year old can down two bottles of that stuff and not be completely plastered is beyond me."

"He thinks he's so special just because he's the son of Bacchus!" Gwen said worriedly. "But if he's not here in fifteen minutes, the praetors are going to go crazy."

A loud thump on the window from outside jolted the both of them. They rushed towards it and peered out, the last rays of the sun bathing their eyelashes a glorious pink. Dakota lay crumpled outside the window, a hand over his face.

Jason raised his eyebrows. "Well, he's completely plastered."

They both made their way out and pulled Dakota up. His face (it _leaned_) was flushed and beads of sweat had broken out on his forehead. His eyes were screwed shut.

"Gweeeeeen-do-leen." He sang as he snickered to himself. "Zatyou?"

Jason and Gwen cast each other worried yet resigned looks- not again- as they dragged Dakota back into the room.

"Jay-son-of-Jupiter!" Dakota laughed feverishly. "Geddit?"

"Yes." Jason snapped as he rubbed a cold, wet cloth over the boy's face. Any normal kid would have been sick all over the floor and probably damaged for hours, but Dakota was after all, the son of Bacchus. He sputtered as Jason forgot the cloth completely and poured the clear, crisp water on his face.

"What was that?" He gurgled as the water dribbled down his lips. His eyes slowly turned back to normal.

"You were drunk." Gwen chided. "Again; and inspection's in half an hour!"

"Twenty minutes now." Jason nodded and Dakota cursed. Gwen glared at him and he arranged his features into something that faintly resembled shame.

"I'll get dressed." There was a hint of a slur in his voice.

-x-

The next morning blazed awake and Dakota blinked his eyes open, adjusting to the golden rays of sun that hit him. Dust fairies twirled gracefully in the air. He reached under his bed for his usual bottle- something light, even he couldn't do vodka at six-thirty in the morning- and his hands scrabbled against the dusty floorboards.

Fully awake now, he frowned and tumbled over the side of his bed, pressing himself against the floor. His stash was gone and he had a faint suspicion of who was behind this.

"Looking for something?" It was Jason.

"Yes and you know what it is!" Dakota snapped as he sat up.

"Here you go." Jason smiled as he passed the boy a Styrofoam cup. Without looking inside, Dakota took in gratefully and took a long gulp-

And spat black coffee all over Jason.

"What in Pluto's tiny name is this, Grace?" He rasped, his tongue dangling out.

"Coffee." Jason didn't look too angry about the dark liquid trickling down his skin. "Most people drink it when they wake up."

"I want my wine! Aw, c'mon!"

"Nope." Jason smiled happily.

"Good morning!" Gwen smiled as she entered the conversation. She was, Dakota thought with distaste- and this was the one thing he didn't like about her- entirely too much of a morning person.

"Please give me my bottle."

"No." They chanted in unison, smiling at him.

"Guys!" He begged.

"This can't be good for your health, Dakota." Jason said anxiously.

Dakota rolled his eyes. "C'mon, Grace, skip the Holy saints crap."

Gwen frowned. "You can still drink on special occasions, but downing like a litre of wine each day? Really, it can't be healthy."

Dakota's head pounded. "_You_ can't be healthy!"

Jason sucked his teeth, "Not the best retort."

"I need something or my head is going to explode. Not even kidding."

Gwen cast her eyes around the room as Dakota pressed a thumb to his forehead and swiped a can of Kool-Aid of someone's nightstand.

Dakota drank gratefully. "That's better. So much better." He said when he finally withdrew, wiping a calloused hand across his lips. The sun wasn't a devil anymore. The dust motes weren't mocking him.

Gwen and Jason exchanged a look.

"Dakota, why don't you drink Kool-Aid instead of wine or beer or whatever?"

Dakota snickered. "You really think that is going to be better for my health?"

Jason shrugged. "Well at least this one makes you not slop around like a dead fish; plus, none of the praetors can possibly punish you- harshly- for being a Kool-Aid addict, can they?"

Dakota thought about it.

"C'mon, Dakota." Jason shrugged. "You know we'll always be here for you when you're having trouble, it won't be so hard. Promise."

"Sap." Dakota snorted.

"At least try?" Gwen begged and he could see the worry in their eyes. They wanted to help him, they really did.

"Fine." He muttered finally, "I'll _try_."

-x-

It had been exactly one month since Jason's disappearance. The fifth cohort was still tingling with an anxious mixture of depression and worry. Grace had been the one who finally gave their group a reputation with some credit; the one who would raise up their morale- slightly behind Gwen, who was just too sunshiny sometimes; the one who was their leader and more importantly, their _friend._

They sat down to another dinner at their designated table as all around them, the dining hall buzzed with news about Jason's disappearance.

Someone brushed into the hall surrounded by a clot of people, her obsidian eyes glinting with pain. It was their newly enacted praetor, Reyna, one of Jason's closest friends.

She had just returned from one of the search parties. She cast Gwen and Dakota a disappointed look and they felt their hearts clench. The fifth cohort was smaller than usual, a sign of the casualties of the recent Titan war.

And now Jason was gone.

Dakota took a sip from his goblet, his fingers tracing the delicate whorls etched into the metal. Outside, a faint angel's breath of stars were lighting up the evening sky.

"Kool-Aid, huh." Gwen managed a smile and Dakota managed a laugh.

"Gods, it's been so long."

"We're proud of you, 'Kota." She said and he blushed.

"Yeah, well. Doesn't taste half bad." They paused for a moment, the cutlery clanging off the plates. "Wait, _we_?"

"Well, Jason as well…"

"Oh, yeah. How could I forget?"

He twirled a piece of spaghetti around his fork, downcast.

"Jason always told us he'd be here for us, didn't he?" He asked finally, wanting to cheer up his friend.

"Well, how can you be so sure?" It hurt Dakota to hear the pessimism in Gwen's usually upbeat voice.

"He'll keep his promise." He said with confidence. "I kept mine, after all, didn't I?"


	5. The Blood of Warriors

V

Topic Prompt: Sports/ word count: 863

In ancient Rome, they made sport out of killing: gladiators and slaves in auditoriums filled with bloodlust, warriors treated like athletic heroes with medals awarded for those who brought death. By that stretch, the historians could claim- as they sat in dusty rooms with brittle scrolls- that war for this ancient race could have been but a game, a sport.

-x-

_You have never seen the legion at war_

No sane person wants war, no one wants the carrion stench of death and destruction. But when the battle comes to your shores, when the clarion call of the faithful is raised, you would come.

Because that is what people do when the enemy bears down upon them. This is the reason why humanity has made it through destruction and the devil's hand again and again and again-

We fight back.

For this reason, the soldiers of the Twelfth Legion Fulminata were decked out in their armour, their eyes afraid and their faces proud. The battle would be beginning very soon.

The praetors of Camp Jupiter stood with the leaders of each cohort, hurriedly going over the strategies and plans once more.

"So when do we strike, again?" The daughter of Bellona asked, her obsidian eyes tracing the harsh surface of Mount Tam. Something had put the city of San Francisco to sleep and the silence that played in the twilight was menacing.

"We go for it in an hour." Jason confirmed, worry filling the tracks on his face. The rest of the leaders nodded and the praetor gave a signal for dismissal.

They trooped back to their separate cohorts for a further briefing, noting the palpable gleam of worry that had cast her shroud around the troops. They were small in the swelling silence as the mountain glared down at them. Amidst the black, they could see pinpricks of golden light and if they squinted, the armies of Krios could be made out.

Jason walked towards where the Fifth were gathered and sat down on a slab of rock besides Dakota and Gwen. The boy was twirling a bottle of Kool-Aid in his fingers, the red liquid sloshing against the glass.

Jason noticed, for the first time, how young all of them were. Some of them had barely entered their teenage years. The air was thick with masked fear and thoughts of last stands and bravery.

Camp Jupiter had always been a raising ground for warriors. Their sports had always centred on that particular art, the _war games_, as they were called. He supposed many of them were indifferent to the thought of battle, but when it actually came, it was a bit more than a game.

Dakota nudged Gwen, holding out his bottle. "Don't be scared, have a sip!"

Gwen snorted and shook her head, laughter glinting in his eyes. Jason bit back a laugh. Overhead the sky was falling deeper into blue, the stars pale freckles against the dark. Minutes passed by quickly and before they knew it, the time was upon them.

They were scared, he knew, and he could feel their fear as it burrowed into his eyes and lips. But at the same time, they were Roman and they were proud. All their lives they had been trained for the sport of the battlefield, for the roar of the clash of metal on metal.

They were Roman, they were ready.

Jason glanced at the daughter of war and they smiled as their eyes met.

Standing in front of the assembled legion, a thick wall of bronze and grim faces and gleaming eyes, the praetors could not help but feel impressed. They felt a harsh burning of pride for their people, for their friends.

"Romans, to me!"

They stood closer to o ne another in their clearly drawn lines. The banging of the shields against the ground as had been long ritualised had begun; the rhythm pounded deep in their bones, connecting them back to the Old Country. Under the force of the shields, the ground crumbled as it always had done for their ancestors before them.

They were Roman, and battle was a game- a sport they could win.

"Remember this- when we go to battle against the armies of Krios- remember what we are fighting for!" The praetor yelled, her dark eyes gleaming. "And let that knowledge be with you, when you feel afraid or feel like there is no hope for any of us, because there is. There always is." In response, the army raised their flags, letting the proud gleam of purple dance against the night. The eagles were raised as well, glinting a furious gold.

The praetor continued. "We do not fear; we do not balk! We are Romans and Romans win! And even if we don't, let us fight a battle worthy of our ancestors before us, one that they will speak of for years to come!"

With a final, resounding cheer in the brightening lights descending from the mountains, the legion put their weapons out at the ready; determination fought against fear as they assembled and waited.

"My friends," her voice was softer now, "let us be _brave_."

With that they turned to face the enemy and started the upwards march.

It had begun.

_You have never seen the legion at war._


End file.
